


Blonde Boy in the Back

by SleepySirus



Category: South Park
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Anxiety, Multi, Other, Physical Abuse, Self Harm, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24896407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepySirus/pseuds/SleepySirus
Summary: I sat there, panting as my thoughts continued to race. I suddenly felt a hand on my back. I flinched instinctively, my body beginning to clam up and shiver uncontrollably.“Oh, Kenny...”Things were so horrible. My friends were the only people that helped control what ever was going on in my head. I let them down, so they left me. They were forgetting everything we’d been through. Why couldn’t things be the way they used to? Most importantly, why couldn’t I cope with this?
Relationships: Kenny McCormick/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh, heavily implied bunny and style ummmm, kenny says its mental illness luv, will it happen??? idk actually
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	1. Growing Up

How do you know you’re losing them?

From my experience, you feel helpless. Those fake promises are nothing but empty husks that you still struggle to hear over your own racing heart. Those half-assed smiles, empty words, the dwindling connection; you feel it all. The atmosphere is thick anytime you're together. You can feel them slowly slipping through your fingers. Their grip isn’t as tight anymore. They don’t scan the room for you anymore. Their eyes don’t light up anymore. It’s the feeling of loss. The gut wrenching feeling of being lost without them. The heartbreaking feeling of being replaced. The soul-crushing feeling of realization that, frankly, things will never be the same again.

I wasn’t aware of how bad it was until I was seventeen.

It was so difficult to try and keep our roots intact, to be the middleman in all of our problems.

It all started with Stan moving away.

Our usual mornings fell silent and awkward with just the three of us. Kyle's smiles and laughs slowly became noticeably faltered, sometimes even flat out faked. His little squared nose seemed more scrunched as it pointed down towards the snow. He collected a fine pair of circles under his eyes over the past years and they only seemed to grow darker. His Adam's apple jumped as he swallowed thickly, probably lost in his own thoughts. He wasn't as chipper or vocal as usual, more reserved, quiet, kept to himself. It bugged me. It really bugged me that he wouldn't talk to us anymore. We weren't as close as we were before and it really, really irked me. At some point, all I could do was stare and wonder where everything went wrong. I watched his eyes gaze down at the compacted snow beneath our feet. It all made me wonder what was going on in his head.

He and I were best friends back then, but we weren't the closest now. He had his fair share of 'taking up for me' moments. I had never really done anything for him solely in return, which brings me to my point: I've failed him and I've failed all my friends. Looking back on all those years of him and Stan going to the ends of the Earth for me, I have done nothing for them. Sure I've done the occasional favor here and there, but nothing major like they had carried out. Everything is going all in different directions again, and all I understand is that my friends are fading away.

Kyle had really grown into that stupid hat he so famously wore. It was big on him when we were younger, but now it fit him perfectly. The sides of his hair were cropped short, allowing what little red curls of bangs he had to stick out more comfortably from under his ushanka. His skin was still fair, glowing in the light of the white snow. That was more than enough to let his rosacea stand out. His face was less rounded than it was when we were ten, more pointed and distinct to compliment his lanky features. His long arms were held at his sides, with his hands at his backpack straps. His voice was lower, as was mine. He wasn't growing facial hair yet, thank god, because I cannot imagine him growing a mustache before me. Cartman would probably agree.

_"Quit staring Kenny, what, are you a fag?"_

_"Shut up fatass, I'm just thinking."_

Cartman's babyface melted away year by year after Stan's departure from South Park. Once he hit fourteen, he shot up like a weed and bragged about it forever. He never let the fact that he was taller than us slip our minds. Key word, _was_. Kyle had him beat later on. Along with Cartman’s growth-spurt, if it didn't make it any worse, his mother slapped contacts and Invisalign on him. It was funny hearing him talk with it in for the first few weeks. He also kept horrible acne for almost two years during this period, giving us a little leverage from our height differences. After that shit cleared up, his face was always so clear. I absolutely envied him for it. As for his weight loss, or more-so weight distribution, even when he constantly reassured us after calling him fat, it turned out he was right. He _was_ big-boned.

I could easily pick him out from across a room; tall, broad shoulders, hefty chest, big arms and hands, thick fingers, light brown hair, matching thick brows, milky blue eyes - it wasn't hard to miss him. He quit using Kyle as an emotional punching bag shortly after Stan moved to Tegridy Farms. He claimed that, " _The Jew is basically a giant pussy,_ " and that “ _it’s useless to rip on him, it’s just not funny anymore._ " I told him I was also aware of his change, he was more sour than usual, and of course, all the smartass had to say was something along the lines of, " _Maybe he truly went kosher after all._ "

So many things about Cartman had changed, but he was still the same asshole I befriended back in 1st grade. Even after years of a rocky relationship with Heidi, nothing failed to stop him from cracking jokes about the girls at our school being skanks. He even managed to really piss off Craig for making fun of Tweek’s teeth.

Our die-hard childhood routines were slowly replaced with new ones as we grew older, I assume. I gave up trying to check up on them and their rituals long ago. I questioned for a while if Kyle was still even Jewish. Even after all these years, I still found myself flipping through channels to find Terrance and Philip. What can I say, I'm a total sucker for bad TV. I guess old habits die hard, huh?

Anyway, strangely enough, the three of us had gotten a bit closer again after Cartman's cat suddenly fell ill. I never knew about it until he called. She had to be put down. That was the first time I'd saw or even heard him cry. It was the first time I was genuinely concerned and confused to see Kyle cry, too, but it all made sense later. Cartman's voice was warbled, gentle, strained almost. I could hear his breathing and sniffling from the other line.

_"Mr. Kitty. She's real bad. Please come to the vet with me."_

I was shocked to hear the sincerity in his voice, to hear him for once say, " _please_." I remember that day well. After that call, I didn't know what to do. I pondered whether to wait, or go over there myself. So instead of dreading on the van to pull up, I bolted for his house. He needed me. Cartman was the only friend I had left, and he needed me right now.

A part of me felt at fault to get in their car and hear Cartman's quiet hiccups. He was holding his precious fur-friend carefully. Mr. Kitty greeted me with a weak noise, her eyes lidded and tired. She attempted to crawl in my lap, but fell short and shivered. I scooted closer towards Cartman and gave her a careful pat. As I did, I caught a glance at Mrs. Cartman's eyes in the rearview mirror. They only stared ahead as we interacted in the backseat. No, " _hello dear_ ", or a comment regarding how her son had been doing, no comment at all, really - just silence. Her cheeks looked sticky with patches of red, you could see the tear-traced tracks.

Liane, Cartman's mother, somehow managed to get a small, family-sized, minivan about seven years back. I remember it so clearly, we would all play space rangers in this old thing. The new car smell was put on my list of favorites. I always wondered where she got the money, though. I assumed she lost interest in men long ago. Maybe her previous work became tiring to keep up with, or maybe she just decided on a whim to get her life together. Maybe she was still up and at it, and I just didn't know. I always heard she would hit on anyone, regardless of gender or age, as long as it was legal. When I heard she was more into younger men, it scared me, though she never had hit on me before. I was kind of glad.

Don't get me wrong, she was a beautiful woman, she had everything in all the right places, but I'm personally not one for MILFs. Besides, I don't think Cartman would forgive her if she tried anything with his friends. I don’t think he’d ever forgive me either. I was startled halfway through the car ride as Kyle's head popped out from behind Cartman's body. I had just noticed he had an arm wrapped firmly around his back, holding him as best as he could with his lanky features. It was like seeing him desperately hold onto an oversized stuffed bear, the ones normally won at fairs. It was abnormal for his tiny figure. I mean, it was abnormal in general, this was Cartman and Kyle, I was raised on seeing them constantly jab at each other with sticks.

Another unexpected thing happened that day. I'd never truly known my worth to Cartman until he acted this way towards me.

" _She- She was my best friend._ "

He stuttered between a sob. Cartman's arms flew around me to squeeze me. I froze into his hold, my arms found their way around his, put our heads on each other's shoulders, and I held him back. From where I was, I could see Kyle scowling as he watched Mr. Kitty's body be wrapped into a blanket before being taken away. His eyes were full of sorrow, like he was reliving some awful traumatic memory. That’s when Cartman said something that changed my viewpoint on him, probably for the rest of my life.

_"Please don't leave me, Kenny. You're my best friend. Please. I'm losing everyone."_

A second sob filled the room. I watched as they left the lips of my friend - my _former_ friend. His lips curled upward into a pained expression. He held both sides of his head and cried as his frame shook. I didn't understand. Kyle was breaking down on the other side of the room, and for what? I was on no position to comfort someone else. I didn't even know how to. All I knew was to hug, pat, and hold until everything was calm. I started to doubt my comforting abilities.

That was, until Cartman let go of me. I felt the loss of his touch slip away quicker than I had felt its presence. I watched as he gently wrapped his arms around Kyle, resting his head atop his ushanka. It wasn't some half-assed hug the principal would have them do in middle school to make up for fighting. It was the first time I'd saw them genuinely be affectionate with one other. I watched in awe as the moment took place in the history of my mind. I didn't get it. I never understood why Kyle was so upset that day, why he buried his face into Cartman's chest and cried harder than he did. I mean, Cartman was the one with the dead cat, why was he acting like this?

I never understood.

I keep tracing things back to the simpler days when it was just all of us, piled on Stan's couch. Occasionally we'd hang at Cartman's place and play superheroes, but sometimes those days were rare, as Liane was out of the house most of the time. We resulted in staying over at Stan's for dinner or to spend the weekend together, doing nothing but watching crappy shows, playing video games, or having all-nighter movie marathons. I would always sit nearest to the kitchen, usually leaned up against the armrest. Cartman would tell me to go get snacks when he was low on his own. Being the kid of a low-income family in constant poverty, I always obliged. I'll always be in debt to the families of this town who fed me even when I never asked.

Cartman usually sat beside me, his fingers always coated in Cheesy Poofs dust, Dorito dust, what ever residue of chip he was eating. Stan always complained about crumbs, saying something about it being a pain to clean up, but being the fatass in the group, he was always cleverly one step ahead of him. He would simply brush them in the void of the couch: between the cushions. If that wasn't enough, he'd even sweep them off into the carpet in hopes it would act as an endless abyss to make them disappear.

Stan usually sat in the middle of Cartman and Kyle, mostly because we couldn't stand to hear them bicker over petty little things, but also because Kyle was more comfortable around Stan. This was the point in our lives where the two were basically conjoined at the hip. Wherever Kyle was, Stan was, vice versa, etc. Cartman thought that was kind of gay and I wanted to disagree, but what if it were true and we weren't aware? I was never to judge the lives of my friends, especially if they were my only ones. So I kept my mouth shut at any reference to gay people from then on.

Bottomline, Stan was in charge of what ever we did. We considered him the leader of our little group. He had most of the movies, anyway, as well as all of the cool games, like Guitar Hero, Minecraft (only for the GameSphere), Red Dead Redemption, Karaoke, Wii - you name it, we had fun with all of them.

Now, Kyle was definitely the voice that stood out more than all of us, he was considerably a pussy though. He would chicken out at any sign of aggression, but he was still always very vocal. Especially about what we were doing, like talking about how dumb horror movies were right before jumping and spilling his snacks, or recommending a movie with very noticeable side-boob in it, only to remind us that it was PG-13 ten minutes after putting the tape in. Stan usually persuaded him otherwise, reassuring him that we would be fine. I never cared or even paid attention enough for movie ratings, I just wanted to see a kick ass FX movie and some side-boob.

Those days were overwhelming to even think about.

The bus crept along in front of us, causing Kyle to look up. I snapped back into reality just as the bus door squeaked opened. I need to stop reminiscing, or would it be considered mourning?

Ms. Crabtree greeted us with a disgusting scowl as always and yelled at us to hurry up. I shook my head and took my usual seat. My eyes landed directly on the back of her head. Her messy, unkempt hair was forever a rat's nest. She never changed throughout our school years, always smelled like pee, was always loud and angry. I would be angry too if I was stuck with a low-end job like her's. But I couldn't say that out loud. I might as well be unemployed for the rest of my life.

It's not like school would help me reflect on the past and grow the fuck up, anyway.


	2. Drinking Ink

Everything’s on edge. I sit at my desk and keep my hands in my lap. The clock just above the chalkboard is ticking loudly. I watch as the large hand moves around the numbers, counting down the seconds as if I’m expecting something. As if I’m waiting for dad to come home. Watching the clock every second of the day is tedious, admittedly a habit. I’m dreading another kick to the ribs. I’m nothing but a prop for him to hurt. The worst part is, I can’t do anything about it. I can’t die. I just can’t fucking die, no matter how hard I try, I always overthink and drop everything. No one knows  how I feel, how hard it is to keep going. It’s gotten so much worse over the years. No one understands how it feels to know that every single day I have to come home to _him, to_ know that everyone I care about is slipping away from me, to know that things will never be as good as they were back then. These feelings are all too familiar and too complex, it’s more than just an emotion at this point. It’s with me every waking moment.

I feel it in my gut deep down, like there’s a little monster eating away at my insides. It hurts, I feel like I’m in danger, but I know I’m not in any real pain or harm. I mean, it’s all just inside me. It feels like my world is crumbling around me as I watch everything fade away. All of my friends, anyone I’ve ever fell in love with, all of those people I cared about, everyone I’ve ever met is slowly forgetting me. It’s like I’m stuck. I can’t move - only fall as I’m engulfed, swallowed down into a deep inescapable hole. I can’t speak or even scream as I reach out and clutch my stomach. That little monster swimming around in my insides is right under my fingertips. I can feel it scratching around.

It wants out. It makes me want to gag, to throw it up all over the floor in front of everyone, to show them how disgusting I am for not doing the right thing and saying something before it all happened. There’s no use in cleaning it up, anyway . It’s pointless to go back and clean up the mess when there’s a high chance of a reoccurrence. All I can do is stare down at my hands. They’re already dirty. It’s everywhere. It stained my skin, it’s under my fingernails, it clogged up every little pore in my hands. It’s always useless to intervene.

I hate my monster.

I despise it. I imagine it would look ugly. It would be dark, sticky, thick, and taste like tar. It would scream as I hurled it up. No one would notice anyway, right? Yeah. No one would see the unfortunate boy’s clothes covered in thick, black goop. No one would see it spewing out across his desk or hear it splatter onto the floor. No one would see it dripping down his chin, his eyes fixed to the front, unaware how much it hurts. I want to kill my monster. I want to kill it over and over instead of feeling it squirm around in my stomach all day. It only makes things worse for me. It’s making everything _so_ much worse.

_ “With that said class, who can tell me the definition of mitosis?” _

My stomach hurts. I can feel my stomach practically convulsing. I don’t know why I’m so deep in my thoughts today. I can’t stop thinking about my friends. Why did things have to end up this way? What went wrong? I could’ve avoided this. I could’ve helped everyone. I could’ve been the cornerstone like I always had to be. I could’ve sucked it up and listened to everyone’s bullshit once again, helped them, and everything would be okay now. If it meant for me to die, I would go back so fast. Everything is so wrong now. It’s all my fault and I can’t do a single thing about it. I’m so sick of this. I feel sick.

_ “Kenny?” _

I peek over at Kyle. He’s at the far left of me, in the farthest first column, second row of desks. He’s tapping his pen on an open notebook, chewing the inside of his cheek, face and eyebrows scrunched up as he glares at the seat in front of him. The page he’s flipped to is almost empty, his leg is bouncing. He seems angry and just as caught up in his head as I am, yet again. I wonder what he’s thinking about. I hope he’s okay. My stomach settles a little as I keep looking around. 

I glance over to Stan. He’s at my far right, almost completely mirrored from Kyle, in the first row seat of the last column of desks. His head is propped up by his hand, elbow securely up on his desk. He has no notebook out, not even a pencil. Where even is his backpack? He’s staring off directly to his left. His eyes are fixed and droopy.  They aren’t bored or tired, he just looks as if he were in a trance. I slowly trace his gaze to what he’s so invested in. It must be interesting.

 _ “ **Kenny** _ _**McCormick**_.”

My stomach suddenly squeezes tight. My heart begins to race as my eyes flick up to the front of the classroom, towards Mr. Garrison. I feel a cold chill and bile raise to my throat. He’s standing at the blackboard, a short stick of chalk in hand with the other at his hip. His brows are knitted together in frustration just like Kyle’s were. It’s so hot in here all of the sudden. My eyes are wide as they stare back at my teacher like a deer in headlights.

_ ”What is the definition of mitosis?” _

Garrison hadn’t changed much either. He was still weird, still perverted, still mildly insane. He’d done his fair share of traumatizing us when we were younger. Thankfully, that was mostly covered up thanks to the power he held in our country. Oh, the things you can sweep under the rug by being the president just once. I’ll have to admit though, he did have a few clever things to say. Most of it was funny nonsense, but there were a few things that I’d gladly live up to and add to the bible of Herbert Garrison. I always enjoyed the man’s philosophy, even if he was a crazy old goon by now.

“Uhm. Can I use the bathroom?”

He sighed harshly and pinched the bridge of his nose, his glasses raising a bit as he squeezed his eyes shut. He turned to the board once again,  voice a low mutter at first, but grew louder, “I swear none of you damn kids pay attention anymore... Take a pass.” The sound of chalk on the board was high-pitched and irritating as he continued writing the lesson on the board. My insides churned furthermore. It needed out. I stood up. “Keh, popped another boner, Kinny?” Cartman snickered from in front of me, his voice only sounded loud because it carried. I almost forgot that he sat in front of me. He leaned back against his chair, only assuming he did so for it screeched across the floor. Another chill ran up my spine.

I tried my best to walk normally as I made my way to the front of the class. All I had to do was keep it together, pluck the pass from his desk, and bolt. If everything goes to plan, then maybe, just maybe, I won’t make a fool of myself. As I peered down at the desk before me, I felt it kick my insides. “Fuck,” I mumbled as I held myself. I need to get out of here, but Garrison’s desk was a mess. There were papers of all kinds, from homework assignments, documents,  essays, forums, to even old papers dated back to 2006. Everything was too bright for me to continue looking. What is this, I Spy with the hall pass? Where is the damned thing? 

_ “Now. Wendy. Please, what is the definition of mitosis?” _

My eyes glanced up from the desk over to Kyle, only to move up a seat and see Wendy. Her desk was clean with organized, neatly written notes that were beneath her hands. She looked too perfect to even be a real person. There wasn’t a single strand of straightened raven hair out of place, her clothes were always clean and smooth, never wrinkled, and there was never a blemish on her. Her nose was small and cute. Her eyes were a beautiful light brown. She never wore unnecessarily flashy accessories except for an old gold-plated necklace. Her posture was probably that of a yard stick, her teeth were straight and as perfect as can be, but the breast implants she had long ago did her no justice. Her eyes were always filled with determination, like she had not a care in the world. Her confidence really radiated. It made me gag. He needed out _now_. I held a hand over my mouth.

_ “Mitosis, like Meiosis, is a process that involves a cell dividing into two cells. The process takes place in the nucleus of a dividing cell. There are a series of chronological steps consisting of prophase, metaphase, anaphase, and telophase. It results in the formation of two new nuclei, both having the same number of chromosomes as the original, or parent nucleus.”  _

Screw it. As I turned to run out, I caught a glimpse of Stan. He was paying even less attention than he was before, but still looking to his left. The hair that wasn’t stuffed in his hat, fell in his eyes as he peered over at her. He was nodding along quietly, _agreeing_ with the literal _facts_ Wendy was spewing. What an idiot. Didn’t she tell him she wasn’t interested? I quietly closed the class door behind me and sprinted down the hall, slamming open the bathroom door as soon as I approached it.

_ “Why, hey Kenny-“  _

The disgusting smell of the bathroom was just enough to make my stomach jump for the last time. I flung open the nearest stall and stumbled down in the floor, finally ripping my jacket off my shoulders and letting it all come up. It spewed out just as I had predicted. The more I thought about it all, the more came up without fail. The sound was sickening, like something was being slaughtered right below me.  Between the groans of how violently I was heaving and whatever what was coming up, I didn’t know how my body managed. I felt like I was on autopilot. I moaned into the bowl and suddenly coughed as I heaved once again. Nothing came up. It was uncontrollable and completely humiliating. This went on for a good couple minutes before realizing I was doing nothing but staring down at my own mess with shallow breaths. I looked down into my reflection and was surprised to still see it in the murky water below. Surprised to see that my puke wasn’t black at all. It felt thick. It burned. It should’ve matched what was inside, right? I don’t understand.

I sat there, panting as my thoughts continued to race. I suddenly felt a hand on my back. I flinched instinctively, my body began to clam up and shiver as if on command. “ _Kenny..._ ” A soft voice sighed sadly. The hand gently rubbed between my shoulder blades, then in slow circles. This lasted for a while I think, or at least until I stopped shivering. Time wasn’t my biggest concern right now. The hand moved from my back, to my head. “ _You’re just fine, you hear?_ ” I felt fingers combing through my hair. My body tensed up and cringed as they ran through my scalp. They just kept combing my hair slowly. Carefully combing it back out of my face, just for it fall back in the same spot as before. Things were so horrible. My friends were the only people that helped soften the blows my shitty life threw at me. I let them down, so they left me. They were forgetting everything we’d been through. Why couldn’t things be the way they used to? I pulled myself back, sat on my legs in front of the toilet and stared down at the floor beneath me.

My breathing finally evened out, but was replaced with quiet, uneven sniffs. I didn’t deserve this. I don’t know what I was thinking, I don’t deserve friends. My vision was a blur as I stared down at the white tiled floor. _“Hey, it’s okay... I’m always here for you.”_ I kept listening to those words. They sounded so sincere. They came from the mouth of the sweetest person in school. Maybe I should listen. I hiccuped, as I wiped my eyes. I don’t want to go home tonight. I’m so tired.

_ “That’s it buddy, I’m here. You’re okay, Kenny. Everything is going to be okay...”  _

He doesn’t know anything. I don’t feel okay. Everything is far from okay. He wouldn’t hear the end of it if I had the chance to explain. I don’t even think I _could_ explain. I sighed and leaned back to stand up, only to lean into something warm. I felt a steady rise and fall against my back. I half-smiled, sniffled, and grabbed the boy’s wrist, placing his hand back on top of my head.

At least my stomach was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anxiety and intrusive thoughts are not a good mix.


	3. Understand the Misunderstood

I’ll never forget the day I realized our house wasn’t like most people’s. I was around four or five, I think, before mom got pregnant with Karen. Our house didn’t work the way my friends’ did. It was dysfunctional, always thick with tension. Sort of a “fend for yourself” type of household, but we still cared for each other. Took up for each other. Cared for each other. All except for dad, it was like an unspoken rule that mom would always try her best to keep him at bay or just away from us. No wonder her resting expression was always sullen, red and blotchy, especially when _he_ was home. It kind of bothered me seeing her sad all the time, but nonetheless, she never failed to keep being positive. 

_ “Here, Kenny.”  _

She slid a small plate with a single waffle towards me, sniffling. “Eat up before your father gets home, okay?” She put a gentle hand to my head and brushed some hair out of my face. “My sweet baby...” Her calm, southern-accented voice was laced with honey as she ran her fingers through my hair. I read her face as tired as she looked down at me and withdrew her hand to take her place back at the kitchen sink. I guess it was to keep an eye on the door. Her voice sounded broken. She seemed so sincere whenever she talked to me, though. I only looked up at her and stared into her eyes. She gave me a sweet smile, the kind that could either make a heart flutter, or cause it to completely drop. Her dark red hair fell down to her shoulders, a little oily, but still pretty. I never understood why we had to live the way we did until I was older.

Our house was a mess, but we made what we could of it. It was dirty, hazardous, but livable. Walking into the living room was comparable to seeing the aftermath of a tornado. The walls had holes, the paint was dull and cracked, the carpet reeked and was filled with dirt. We had just found a TV and Kevin had some how gotten it to broadcast some channels. There wasn’t much, but luckily I had been entertained by the news and something of an old show, The Twilight Zone, I think it was? It was one of my favorite shows when I was younger, it made me forget the fact that I lived in a complete shit hole.

The kitchen was even worse. Whoever designed this place did an especially terrible job in that room alone. I mean, who thought it’d be a smart idea to staple down carpet in a kitchen floor? Every crumb thinkable was in that nasty, shag carpet floor. It was even worse with stains. Mold grew in the corner, just behind the old table given to us from grandpa. It looked like the wall was growing hair, which was admittedly terrifying to me when I was little. The counters still held loose cat hair from when we had one. It was sticky on some places, and undeniably unusable in others, which led right to the sink. It was always empty from dishes and probably the cleanest place in our little shit hole house. 

It’s not like our rooms were any better anyway. Everything was always broken. The door to my room broke off when I slammed it, but thankfully Kevin helped me fix it the best we could. My closet door decided to break off too, but I gave up on fixing it and kept the door aside. During one of dad’s drunken fits, he managed to make a little hole inside my closet. It looked so ugly, but it led to the backyard, so I made what I could out of it. My bed frame eventually snapped too, at one point, so I just kept my mattress on the floor and ended up using the spare wood for Cartman’s treehouse.

I looked over at my mom as I ate my waffle slowly. She peered over at me and watched me calmly as I ate. She was leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over her chest, and there was a small hint of a smile written on her face. Her eyes were green, which was one of my favorite things about her. I wish I had green eyes. I wish I looked something, anything, like her. She was so pretty, but unfortunately I was mostly stuck with favorings of my dad - dirty blonde hair and dull blue eyes, I even had his nose. At least I had freckles and a tooth gap like her. At least I had some hope at turning out to be a decent person.

_ “Jesus Christ, this place is a fucking mess. Did you really not do anything today, woman?” _

The front door to the living room slammed shut, causing my plate to rattle against the table. Mom’s arms fell as she watched him walk through the living room. I could’ve sworn I felt my body freeze up as dad walked into the kitchen. His eyes were drooped, glaring directly at mom. I watched as he pushed past her to the fridge. He dug out a beer and scoffed, “You really are as stupid as you seem, can’t do fuckin’ anything right. I don’t know why I married you.” 

Mom stayed silent and looked to the ground. She always looked like a helpless little puppy around him. I never knew why she bothered with him, but this was my dad. Lo and behold, Stuart McCormick. He took the lid into his rough hands, popped the cap off and took a short sip. “What’s for dinner tonight, huh? Some shitty excuse of a staple food you’ll throw in the microwave for ten seconds and then say, here you go honey, welcome home - ain’t that right?” His voice grew louder with the more he talked. Mom only swallowed and kept her eyes down. She was trying her best to ignore his verbal malice. There was a short silence before she spoke up.

_ “Well, if you had a job, we could afford more, and I could cook you something decent for once. But neither of us see that happening anytime soon - you couldn’t even hold a pizza delivery job down.” _

His eyes widened as they met with mom’s. His brows knitted together and his jaw was set. I blinked slowly and expected him to yell, but he didn’t. He then laughed. Loud. An obnoxious, disgusting laugh that boomed throughout the house. “Are you shitting me?” His voice cut between laughs. “I only lost that job because I failed a drug test, and as far as I know, you’ve never even been employed. Don’t preach to me.  _ You’re _ the woman. _You_ take care of me. _You_ take care of the kids. _You_ take care of the house. You clean, you cook, and you fuck. That’s _all_ you’re meant to do, and thats _all_ you’re good for, you hear? I dare you to go out there and make something of yourself, but when the day’s done, you’re just a woman. Can’t do _shit_ for yourself without a man.” 

I watched as mom’s expression slowly started to match dad’s. His eyes wandered over and seemed to meet mine. He caught me staring. It’s rude. His face fell even further, eyes glazed with disinterest. “What the hell are you staring at?” His face was reddened, not blotchy how mom’s usually was. This was different - red under the influence. His stubble around his cheeks was disgusting, face unkempt, greasy and gross, just like his hair. It was dirty and stuck together in random places. It wasn’t until he was up in my face that I noticed his breath smelled awful. His teeth were yellow and jagged, stained from drug-use and drinking over the years. 

_ “I asked you a question son, what the hell are you looking at, huh?”  _

His words were slurred and his face was scarily angry. He turned his head a little with his eyes still on me, brought the rim of the dark brown bottle to his chapped lips, and took another drink. This time longer than the last. He swallowed and shook the chair I was sitting in, causing me to stiffen. “You know it’s rude to stare, right? What is it- You got a fuckin’ problem with me or somethin’? You think you’re all bad, starin’ down the big man, huh?” I shook my head rapidly and looked him in the face as he grabbed me from my chair. I only stared back into his dull eyes as I stiffened. All I could do was look. Looked for anything, even a sign of any emotion other than anger. But that was my mistake. Never stare back. Ever. I hadn’t learned my lesson yet to break eye contact and back down.

“Well, say somethin’, or fight back for fuck’s sake!” He shook me as he held me by my shirt, my hands found their way to his calloused one, holding onto it so I didn’t fall. “Put him down, Stuart, Christ - he’s just a kid!” I heard my mom yell over his voice. He glared back at her. His head moved the slightest so I only caught a glimpse of her face and an eyeful of his oily hair. Mom was upset. His words were slurred once again as he yelled, “Shut your _god damn_ mouth.”

He then threw me back on the wall of our kitchen and kept a hold on my shirt, his fist pressed against my chest. The back of my head thumped hard against the wall behind me. It was a sharp pain that slowly turned into a dull ache. He stared down at me for a long time before he grimaced and spat his next words, “Fuckin’ pussy, might as well be just like your mother.” He finally let go of my shirt and stepped back. I dropped to the floor with another thump and immediately reached for the back of my head, but his eyes were still on me. I was still a target to him. His eyes were focused as if he were glaring more at the wall, rather than his own son. His expression would’ve been more or less empty if his face wasn’t overridden with such anger, an indescribable amount of anger. He glared towards mom and said one last thing before he left to the living room. 

_ “Dinner. Now. And it better be fuckin’ good.” _

I swallowed hard and watched his feet disappear into the other room as he left. After a few moments of staring down at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing on Earth, footsteps approached me. I immediately cringed and folded my arms and legs in. Hands went under my shoulders and picked me up carefully. My face was met with a shoulder and a view that barely peeked down at the floor. The smell of my mom almost overwhelmed me, but instead it brought me great relief. She held me tight as she took me back to her room. A hand was on my head, fingers gently ran through my hair.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so, so sorry.” I noticed she struggled to keep her usual sweet voice. It broke as she spoke softly, “You’re okay.” Sniffles and shallow breathing filled my ears. She continued to run her fingers through my hair and hold me against her shoulder. She brushed my hair out of my face only for it to fall right back where it was before. I felt her lips press against my head as she continued to cry, “It’s okay Kenny, it’s going to be all right, okay?” She sniffled again and pulled me from her shoulder, looking at my face. “Momma’s always here for you.” She caressed my cheek with a smile. Her face was blotchy again, her eyes wet and red, they really popped when she was sad. Looking into her eyes was like looking into a lush green forest on a sunny day. They matched her hair perfectly. My mom was so pretty, even stress and age didn’t change it. “You’re a good boy, you know that? You’re always so good, so well behaved, I couldn’t ask for a better little boy.” She kissed my forehead and continued to nuzzle me into her shoulder. I held onto her tight. 

I wanted to smile so bad, to show her that I appreciated her compliments, but I couldn’t help but to stare off and space out in my thoughts. I was still in shock. I didn’t know how to feel. At that time, I didn’t fully understand why dad was so mean to me. What did I do? Did I do something wrong? Was I in trouble? I never did anything to hurt him. I tried to always be good. I never did anything unless I was asked to, never spoke unless I was spoken to, in certain cases. I never bothered him, I mean, I tried my best to stay out of his way.

But it was never enough, I guess.

My shoes crunch under the snow below me. The sound alone was starting to annoy me. I forgot how long I’d been walking, but I could care less. My mind brought me here. I had wandered so far that I ended up at a place I’d never thought of even reaching. My legs start to ache as I step up old porch steps leading to a screened door. It’s been too long. I need to talk to him. I’ve felt avoided for way too long and I need to figure out why. I feel like a ghost in the midst of some twisted tearjerker. A bitter chill runs up my back as I hesitate to even touch the door handle. This is stupid, what am I even doing here? What made me feel the need to walk all the way from home, to  _ here_?

_ “What the hell?” _

A strained voice comes from beside me. The man rocks a little in his chair and coughs before taking a long drag at what I assume is a cigarette. Creases much like Cartman’s were above brown squinted eyes, his lips were drawn up around the butt of his blunt, a thick mustache and something of a beard were barely noticeable from behind his hand. The color sort of matched his hair, a light salt-and-pepper; an uneven mix of white, grey and black. I don’t know why I didn’t recognize him before, at one point he was the most iconic man of our town, Mr. Marsh.

_ “Haven’t seen you in forever, kiddo. I, uh, thought you died or something.”  _

My eyes fell to the floor of the old white porch. I wonder why he was under  that impression? “I mean, it’s partially my fault since I got so excited for the business when we moved here.” I really didn’t know how to respond. There was a pause in our conversation. Our eyes met for a second before he casually slid a hand in his pocket, “Wanna buy some weed?” I rolled my eyes away from his and looked towards the door, slowly murmuring my words as I looked around. Everything was so different now. “No, sir, thank you.” He seemed to have been holding his breath as I pondered, sighing out as he threw what was left of his cigarette into a nearby pile of snow just off the porch. “Whatever, its not like I don’t still have ties to your parents, or anything.” He pouted. Our eyes met again for a second of silence before he spoke again, “Are you sure you don’t want any?” I squeezed my eyes shut and sighed gently.

“I just came to see Stan, please, sir.”

Stan’s room was so neat. Not cool or anything, just extremely clean. Sure, he had the cool band poster here and there, but it was eerily spotless. There was a single dark brown desk against the wall as soon as you stepped in. Along side it in the corner, was his bed. It was neatly made up with a ranch-esque comforter. Stan was sitting on his bed, legs folded up with his back towards the door. From what it sounded like, he was fiddling with his guitar. I stepped in further and creaked the door open. He turned around with a boorish expression and his eyes immediately lit up as the look melted away. “Dude, hey.” He sounded surprised. I waved a little and made my way over to his bed. I sat an awkward distance from him and kept my hands in my lap. We were silent for a minute before he spoke up. 

_ “So uh, how are things?”  _

Well, let’s see, my friends are distant, my head is all over the place, my family is still in poverty, and I have no plans to a future. Literally nothing has changed. I gave a small shrug and kick my feet a little. I watch them as they swing back and forth. “I see.” He clears his throat and beams a little, “Dude, did you see Wendy the other day? She looked so good in that dress. I d’know what she was all fancied up for, but it was a sight for sore eyes.” He whistled in thought and fell back onto his bed. His head was hanging off the edge which made his Adam’s apple more prominent than usual. It dipped at he sighed and hugged his guitar, “I still love her. I don’t know what to do with myself half of the time when I see her.” His voice was sad, almost as if he was remembering something that took place long ago.

There was another few seconds of silence while I gathered my words. He was so annoying sometimes, but I couldn’t just come into his house and lash out on him for his feelings. I would hate for someone to do me that way, I just don’t understand. “Listen, it’s weird hearing you still talk about her. I mean, she told you that she doesn’t want to be in a relationship so she can focus on school. I’d respect that right if I were you.” I had to speak up. The mention of her alone sickened me. How was Stan this shallow? He knew she wasn’t interested, but that didn’t stop him from completely obsessing over her. Every time I tried to talk to him the first few words would be small talk, then he would dive in head-first to a forced conversation about her, and her alone. It genuinely disgusted me.

_ “I know man, I just- I- I love her. She makes me feel so many different things just by looking at her. Who knows what she’d make me feel if I were actually with her again!”  _

_“She makes me sick to my stomach.” _

_ “I  ** know ** right?” _

No. He really doesn’t understand how sick all of this makes me.


	4. Mess

It was Clyde’s birthday.

Sunday, I’m sure. I remember specifically that dad was eager to leave the house and go to church. I didn’t exactly understand why, it sickened me not to think of him a bible thumper. I didn’t pay much attention to him anyway. I had been protecting Clyde’s birthday present for at least a week by then. I saved up all the money I could get my hands on, any spare change in the couch or even pennies on the streets around town. Whatever I found automatically went towards it. I originally planned on buying brand new playboy magazines, but decided against it since that wasn’t necessarily an appropriate gift at a birthday party. I ended up settling on a little poster of the Denver Broncos. He was a big fan of them and I was dead-set on seeing his face light up. I was excited for that day, excited to get out, mostly because his party was at the skating rink.

That day was actually the first time I had ever skated and admittedly - I was bad at it. Kyle even found himself sprawled across the hard wooden floor a few times. So, we fell a lot, and as expected, Cartman jumped at the opportunity to rip on us. Any time he saw someone smack their face to the floor or even stumble, he never missed a second of our clumsiness. Even after that, I look back on that day as one of the best times of my life. The lights were dim, the music fitted well with the atmosphere, the ambience of children laughing and talking over the skates screeching across the floor - it was all just harmless fun like any childhood memory. The place wasn’t too loud or anything, and the food there was delicious. The pizza was a bit too greasy, but how could I possibly complain? I was eating for  _ free _ . Home-cooked or not, free food is always the best type of food. I was so happy that day. I was with all of my friends, I had good food around me, we were nothing but a bundle of laughs and joy. Everything was going great.

There was just one thing that stood out to me.

That day, I noticed Butters had an “interesting” attraction with people. He was, and still is, a people magnet. He makes friends very easily without fail. The only thing is, around that time of our lives he had a problem with showing pity. It’s not that he was a complete void to sympathy, he actually showed  _too_ much . He had always been too nice, now that I recall. He was friendly to everyone, considered anyone his friend, and basically would do anything for anyone with the right intentions. Luckily he learned not to be as gullible, thanks to a certain someone in our friend group. I remember that day well though, Father Maxi was Butters’ plus one to the party. Apparently he had been going through a tough time and Butters was the only one who appeared to notice. He was the only one to care. The guys often pointed out before that they hung out too much for comfort, but we weren’t around him enough to do anything about it. Clyde sure didn’t appreciate his presence.

_ “I don’t care, I don’t want a  priest at my fucking birthday party.” _

I think Kyle eventually got sick of it too though, I guess he didn’t like another religion being shoved in his face all the time? I mean, he is  very Jewish. I supposed he had every right to put his foot down. I didn’t like the man too well myself, he had good intentions, he just never sat right with me. But seeing Butters’ frame shift a little as he watched Clyde’s face scrunch up, seeing his little face fall and his brows scrunch together in fury, that messed me up. My heart clenched and part of me felt bad for the guy. The fact that his emotions bled right through him really messed with me. It was a sign - like giant, bright, pointing fingers - that he was a confused, broken kid. Thinking back on those days, I noticed it.

And I did absolutely  nothing about it.

I never tried to engage with him, I hardly even talked to him unless he approached me first. I tried so hard to ignore those feelings and go on with my life as usual, but it was difficult. It was so hard. As of today, broken friendships are what I’m left with. It’s what I deserve for treating him that way. I’m lost in myself now and it’s exactly what I deserve. For all I know, Butters could’ve gone through worse than I have and had no one at all to turn to. Now I’m in his shoes and I suppose he knows that, yet he is still willing to be there for me? 

It’s a confusing thought to grasp.

My dirty socks were atop the dark green carpeting of the living room. I felt stiff. The whole place was overwhelmingly clean. I should be used to it after years of coming over, the pale yellow walls were brighter than usual and that had me on edge. For a second, I glanced toward the kitchen on my right. Just the sight of the green tiles brought back that familiar dull ache. The ache of hunger that was slowly eating away at my stomach. I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I adverted my eyes back to the TV in front of me. 

Cartman’s house had always been eerily empty and clean, but strangely homey at the same time. He called late in the afternoon, asking if I wanted to play some new game his mom let him buy. I expected him to endlessly brag about it and then play it himself just to make me watch. I was correct, but only on the first half. Now here I was, sitting uncomfortably on his couch with a controller in hand. And yes, I’m player two. 

Cartman’s player ran into a car and sped off wildly, running over pedestrians as if they were ants to a sidewalk. He let out a small chuckle, “ _Heh_.” His eyebrows were scrunched down, intently glaring at the screen in concentration. Without looking, he hurriedly dug a hand in a bag of chips by his side and crunched on them. Loudly. This made my stomach groan. Thankfully, he didn’t even break his gaze. He just kept allowing crumbs to collect on his shirt. “Y’know Kinny,” he started off, his voice was louder than expected which caused me to jump. 

“I’m sorry you’re poor,“ Cartman then gave a side-eyed glance towards me, “but  you should be sorry too.” He had a playful smile, not that usual shit-eating grin, “You really suck at hanging out, ‘kinda makes me feel poor too. I can almost taste the pop-tarts.”

I didn’t say a word. 

“I’m sorry you live in such a crappy home, too. I mean, Jesus, how are you still alive? That place is always cold as balls and it smells like mold.” He scrunched his nose up. 

He was right, but I wasn’t going to give in. He wasn’t getting a word out of me. 

“But again, you should be sorry about that too. You could do so much better. You can live anywhere in the world, but you choose  _that_ piece of crap excuse of a house? What are you even doing with your life?” 

Not a single word.

“Oh- Yeah, and I’m sorry your dad beats you.” He sighed out casually, his tone sarcastic. He still had his eyes on the screen as he agged on his one-sided conversation.

Oh. What’s next, I should be sorry for that too? It didn’t surprise me, but I don’t know whether to be shocked or terrified. That word. I hate it. Especially when it’s said aloud. No one has ever even mentioned being aware. For a long time, I didn’t think anything was wrong with it. I never bothered with telling anyone. I was under the assumption that everyone thought everything was okay, or maybe people knew but didn’t give a shit. But apparently he knows. I’ll never hear the end of it on this one.

Cartman has a long history of poking fun at people, whether it be over their looks, religion, race, personal life, whatever; he always has something smart to say. At this point in our lives he’s commented on everything under the fucking sun, but that’s the  one subject he’s never touched until now. My brows were pushed together as I tried my best to block out my anger. My eyes locked onto the TV screen in hopes that I could focus more on our game. By now, I was so used to tuning him out to keep from lashing out on him. Right now, though, he was the last person I wanted to piss off. I didn’t have the energy for his banter anyway, especially this time around. I couldn’t think of anything smart to say or that wouldn’t turn into a argument, so I went to my usual default.

“Fuck you.”

He immediately gave a small chuckle, one which was a signature to the Cartman family, “Screw you, dude.” I noticed as he held his attention on the game, he kept up quite well while holding a conversation. That was one of many things he had mastered over the years. I could never multitask worth a shit, no matter how hard I tried my mind was always distracted by other things. He then lowered the controller a bit, his thick fingers never leaving the buttons, and without missing a beat he spoke again.

_”Wanna stay over here tonight?”_

I’m sorry, what? I heard him wrong. I glanced over at him only to see his gaze straight ahead, eyes focused on the screen. I had to have heard him wrong. His face was left unchanged, his brows down over his eyes in a locked stare with the TV screen. His hands were still glued to the controller and his posture was unfixed, still laid back on the couch in a lazy fashion. He was really good at faking, but he was also really fucking good at hiding his emotions. I mean, amazingly good. Again, something he’d mastered over the years of leading a manipulative childhood. Good thing those days were sort-of behind us. But, really, did those words really leave his mouth? Did he take my behavior as a sympathy card of some sort? A conflict of interest, maybe?

_ “A ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would suffice, Kenny.” _

I stared down at my lap. My gaze went well past the little black Playstation controller I held in my hands. My fingernails were so dirty, I should’ve washed them before I had came over. I don’t get why I’m being handed things that I obviously don’t deserve to have. At best, the friendships I still have are pure. No lies or drama, save for Cartman’s compulsion. Nothing more than maybe a playful exchange has happened since when it all went down the drain. Maybe I  was being given sympathy. Maybe the good things that had ever happened to me were all out of pity. I didn’t want it at all, none of it, but if that’s the only reason I still have friendships, I guess I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s sickening to think about and it’s a pretty low level to stoop to, but it’s better than everyone hating me.

I shut my eyes for a few seconds to keep my thoughts on track. This was so tiring. I need to get out of my head. I glanced up at the TV to see that my character was dead. It must’ve been dead for a while, because when I looked over to Cartman he was laid back, looking towards me patiently for an answer. I simply blinked and knitted my brows once more, looking towards the screen again. It was dark with the words ” _You’re Dead_ ” splattered in blood. Maybe I do need a break from my usual environment. Sort of like a vacation, one to get my thoughts off of everything. Maybe it’ll help with whatever’s been brewing around inside my head. Maybe, eventually, I’ll get better.

“Yeah, sure.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s shorter than usual, I think I’ve hit a bit of a stump. Updates might come out slower, still writing though. Thank you so much for all the kudos!


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